During summer Saturday walks,
I notice the intricate design of flowers,
The majestic beauty that seems
To magically materialize
Before my eyes
And I smile.
Saturday evening downtown in the city,
I study the lonely men in seedy bars
And the homeless men roaming the streets
Like rickety cars,
And I feel the sadness of human defeat.
Sunday mornings I retreat to a parish church
Where a widow kisses the hand of a priest
And a grandmother scolds her granddaughter
For behaving inappropriately but with maternal sweetness
And then they embrace.
In every direction I turn my face,
I try to observe the sadness and the joy,
The victory and the demise,
The saintliness and the criminal intent,
I live my life in every respect
As a philosopher and a poet
And one day I do expect
I’ll die alone but leave a prayer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem